


A Wordless Promise Full Of Pain

by AuroraKant



Series: Whumptober2020 [23]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: (Of Background Characters), And Hugs Him A LOT You Guys, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because Of That, Bruce Saves His Son, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Forced Mutism, Gen, Happy Ending, Panic Attacks, Self-Doubt, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, The Mad Hatter is a Creep, Vomiting, also:, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraKant/pseuds/AuroraKant
Summary: He was hyperventilating, his vision shrinking to the size of a pinprick. This had to be wrong, a lie… Dick couldn’t be at fault for the deaths of these three men… he couldn’t have killed them, or could he? The Mad Hatter wasn’t that powerful. It had to be a lie…But how was Dick supposed to test that without using his voice?Or: The Mad Hatter enacts his revenge, forcing Dick to remain silent or bring death upon those he holds dear. It is really not a choice at all now, is it?
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Series: Whumptober2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948651
Comments: 30
Kudos: 327
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	A Wordless Promise Full Of Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I am back - and I implore you to read the tags. Yes, this story has a happy end (Dick gets more hugs than ever before) but it also heavily deals with people committing suicide!   
> I think this is Syn's fault... be mad at her.
> 
> Kudos, Comments, and Bookmarks make my heart beat faster and feed my soul!!! <3<3<3

Dick should have listened the last time he arrested the Mad Hatter. He should have taken the screamed “And you will be sorry for your slander and your insults! You will be sorry for your very existence!” at face-value.

But he hadn’t. He didn’t.

And now the Mad Hatter had escaped from Arkham and people kept on dying.

It started when Dick managed to track the Mad Hatter down, only to find him in the middle of working on his big game plan, whispering words Dick couldn’t understand into his radio machine. Dick was ready to stop him, but the Mad Hatter was expecting him, knocking him down with the help of his costumed lackeys. The goon had come out of nowhere, and now lying on the floor, his awareness bleeding into the floor, Dick really wished he had brought backup.

It was embarrassing for a hero like Nightwing to be blindsided liked that, but Dick was still forcing himself to be calm. Getting caught and kidnapped by a villain was something normal, and since he was Nightwing he would be allowed to escape. He could struggle and fight and escape the restrains – it would be no problem whatsoever.

_Dick had everything under control._

When he blinked his eyes open again, the Mad Hatter was standing in front of him, a dangerous gleam in his eyes, something truly twisted in his gaze. His words didn’t make it any better:

“Now, you really got in the way of my tea last time we met, and we all know neither I nor Alice like waiting. So, since your voice is so grating, I’d thought I’d offer Gotham a little favor.” 

Dick was still confused, the fist to his head not necessarily making his brain think faster, but he could gather that something bad was happening. It was always bad when a bad guy had a personal vendetta against you, because that meant they would get creative when it came to bringing pain.

Mad Hatters plan must have been easy to set in motion, the warehouse Dick was being captured in – sharing the space with a discharged tea service and the radio machine – far less decorated than Dick was used to from the man. Or maybe his priorities had just changed.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this.”

The Mad Hatter was grinning, his hand motioning towards the line of crooks standing near the far wall. At first Dick wasn’t sure what Tavis meant, but as he kept on watching one of the men suddenly straightened up.

There was nothing Dick could do but watch as the man pulled his gun, raised it to his head, and fired.

Blood and brain splattered everywhere, and Dick could feel his insides going ice cold.

What the fuck? What the ever-loving fuck was going on?

“What did you do? Shit, Mad Hatter, what is going on?”

But the Mad Hatter only continued to grin, as another one of his goons killed himself, this time with a knife, instead of a gun. Dick’s eyes were glued to the blood spreading over the concrete floor, his chest tight, his breathing rapid.

“Wh-?”

“Sush, we don’t want all of my men to die now, do we?”

It made no sense. Whatever the Mad Hatter was saying made no sense. Dick had no idea what the fuck was going on, and the panic was clawing on his insides, needles of discomfort splitting him open.

The Mad Hatter continued as if nothing was amiss, as if they hadn’t just watched two men commit suicide out of the blue:

“Now, you might be wondering what is going on, or if I put something in your tea, but the answer is not so simple. You know, your voice is very annoying dear Nightwing, so I’d thought I’d help us all out: Whenever you talk, someone who is close by will kill themselves. Not all people who might hear you, will do so – so you can play the Russian roulette should you want to – but one person will die for sure.”

This couldn’t be true… this had to be a ludicrous lie, a mistake, a daring…

“No…”

Both of them watched as another one of Mad Hatter’s goons killed himself, more blood joining the sea of red coloring the floor. More death filling the air, the metallic tang of freshly spilled blood heavy in Dick’s nose.

“Yes, I am afraid. And don’t think about warning anyone, my dear Nightwing. My tech made sure that everyone in the city can be affected, and that the loopholes are closed – we don’t want you escaping through the rabbit hole, now, do we? Should you sign – dead. Write – dead. Flee the city limits – ALL DEAD!”

Mad Hatter was cackling, the laughter reverberating inside of Dick’s skull.

No. No, no, no _nononononono…._

He was hyperventilating, his vision shrinking to the size of a pinprick. This had to be wrong, a lie… Dick couldn’t be at fault for the deaths of these three men… he couldn’t have killed them, or could he? The Mad Hatter wasn’t that powerful. It had to be a lie…

But how was Dick supposed to test that without using his voice. Without sacrificing the life of a potential victim? It was bad. Horrible **. Disgusting**.

He threw up, spilling sick over the floor and his suit… the Mad Hatter had never stopped laughing:

“Isn’t that wonderful! You are forced to be silent! Or someone dies! I win either way! Hah!”

The fist aimed at his head came out of nowhere, Dick still caught in the horrors of the bloody sight in front of him, in the disbelieve echoing through his mind.

Unconsciousness was almost welcome, the pain of darkness so much better than the pain of existence.

The next time Dick blinked his eyes open; it was still night. Or again. His encounter with the Mad Hatter felt like a dream, unreal in its absolute terror.

The night was foggy and dark above him, and Dick wished for the soft wind to carry him away. The moment he stood up, he would be forced to face his reality, he would be forced to deal with the truth or the lies of whatever the Mad Hatter had done…

But right now, he could just watch the fog make the stars disappear without having to deal with the unease creating havoc in his stomach. It was bad enough that he could still smell the remains of vomit on his suit, and that the tang of blood had never really left his nose… it was bad enough that some part of his brain was almost entirely sure that it was real.

That his voice could kill people.

He could hurt no one while he was alone on a roof, and he could just think, while the night carried on.

His comm unit was beeping, and Dick knew that Bruce and Babs and Jason and Tim and Damian all probably wanted to know where he was.

He couldn’t tell them. He couldn’t tell them anything at all.

A dark shadow passed through the night, keeping the pale moonlight from reaching Dick for a moment. If he was lucky it was just a dense cloud, hiding the moon and keeping the fog from being illuminated in a silver hue… Dick closed his eyes.

If he was unlucky it was Bruce, and his short reprieve would soon be over.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t answer.

But maybe he could shake his head? The Mad Hatter had said nothing about nodding or shaking and… what if that was the way? What if Dick could do it like that? If he could--- lead Bruce towards the right conclusion just by miniscule motions of his head?

And what if the Mad Hatter made Bruce kill himself, anyway.

Dick wanted to cry, but before he could allow his tears to spill, heavy boots landed on the gravel of the roof. It didn’t take long for Bruce to cross the space between them, the shadow of the giant man laying over Dick’s prone form like a cloak:

“Nightwing. You didn’t report back seven hours ago, and you didn’t say anything before Oracle informed me that your beacon had been activated here twelve minutes ago. What is the matter?”

Dick only cracked his eyes open, looking at the Dark Knight. Bruce had sounded angry, growly – just the way he always sounded when he channeled Batman – but his jaw was tense. Bruce was worried. Horribly so, and there was nothing Dick could do to stop him.

He had no soothing words to offer.

“Nightwing, report!”

Dick stayed silent. He let his eyes fall closed again. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, nobody would be able to talk to him. Dick would be unable to make mistakes. He couldn’t allow himself even one misstep, not when the lives of other people were on the line.

“Night- Dick, I can see that you are still awake. I need you to tell me what is wrong with you this very second!”

A deep sorrow settled in his bones. Dick would have to find the Mad Hatter alone, he would have to fight alone, and save himself alone… he wasn’t sure if he was ready. He wanted a hug, and hot cocoa…. He wanted Bruce to tell him that it wasn’t Dick’s fault, that those three lives weren’t laying heavy on his consciousness.

Because right now Dick felt as if he had killed them with his own bare hands and that feeling was almost unbearable, making him ache deeply in his soul, his skin a crawling nest of fire ants.

“Dick!”

His eyes flew open, Bruce suddenly dangerously close. He had shed the Cowl, and without Batman to hide behind it was even more obvious how scared his father was. Bruce was terrified – and Dick wasn’t sure what he could do to change that.

This was a situation in which terror felt rather appropriate.

“Dick… is something keeping you from giving me… verbal answers.”

Maybe nodding would be alright, the Mad Hatter hadn’t specified, or maybe Dick would kill his dad if he did so… but Bruce and Dick had fought side by side for sixteen years, they knew each other better than most people could ever hope to know anyone…

Dick reached up towards his own mask, disabling the mechanism keeping it in place. Once that was done, he looked at Bruce… no, he looked his dad deep in the eyes and said everything he could with only his eyes.

Bruce flinched back, the intensity of Dick’s stare probably a bit much even for a man who liked to communicate in long looks, but it was the only thing Dick had to offer.

“You… you can’t answer verbally. Okay… sign language…? No… okay, we can deal with this. We can do it Dick! I am sure…”

Dick didn’t believe in Bruce’s words, didn’t buy the thin comfort offered by the shaking voice of a man who was supposed to be strong. But at the same time… Dick was just so tired. Tired, not because of a lack of sleep, but tired, because his soul was already carrying the lives and deaths of hundreds – and he could feel the guilt beginning to build.

Bruce reached forward, grabbing his arms, and once they were both standing, Dick allowed himself to fall forward and hug Bruce close.

He would have to create a game plan soon, find out what was doable and what was taboo… how far he could push himself and all that… but before he could do any of that, he needed a hug from his dad. He needed the comfort of another person, a pat on the back and the knowledge that not all was lost just yet.

If Dick was crying – Bruce’s eyes wet as well – neither of them said anything. Not that Dick could say anything at all.

Nothing Bruce tried wielded any results, not that Dick had expected any.

It wasn’t Dick the Mad Hatter had toyed with, it was the rest of Gotham. But Dick couldn’t tell Bruce just who was to blame. He was growing more uncomfortable with every question Bruce asked, fearful of doing something he would be unable to take back.

What if he nodded one too many times and he would be forced to watch as Bruce took a baterang to his throat with an impassive look on his face? Or what if he mouthed the answers in a mirror image and Alfred accidentally saw it, making the butler fall down the stairs?

No, he couldn’t risk it.

Dick stayed silent, mute, impassive, as Bruce tested him over the coming days. Zatanna, Clark, and Constantine tried their best to solve the mystery Dick wasn’t allowed to inform them off, and he only acted when Bruce offered Martian Manhunter as a possible ally and a sudden fear took hold of Dick…

Where his thoughts were poison as well?

Dick couldn’t risk it. He could risk nothing really. Not as long as the lives of people were on the line. Not as long as it was another person’s suffering Dick was trying to prevent.

Dick would have to leave the Cave behind. It was bad enough that Bruce was trying to solve this for him, endangering himself in the process, but it wasn’t just Bruce here, who could come to harm. Damian, Tim, Cass and Alfred were common visitors to his solidary confinement and the Cave in general, and there were other heroes as well, who liked to use Batman’s sanctuary.

It was dangerous.

Dick had almost broken his vow of silence the first day into his predicament, when he stumbled and stubbed his toe, curses on the top of his tongue. He had been alone in the Cave, as the single “Fu-“ escaped him… and yet he had been forced to watch as a bat flew into the motor of the Batmobile returning from patrol, effectively killing itself.

The guilt he had felt over the small body was almost too much. It wasn’t even a person that had died… but the bat had been reminder enough.

He had to leave – and not just for them, but for himself as well.

It was… _horrible,_ but he missed talking. He missed creating any kind of sound or communicating or just sharing a human connection. But right now, fear was tearing him apart, and he was afraid of mumbling in his sleep, barely closing his eyes anymore. He was afraid of cuddling, because what if he made a mistake, he was afraid…

He was just constantly terrified.

And it was destroying him. He felt so alone, so broken… his throat ached with a longing for words and song. Dick was chatty – even if to a lesser degree than many of his friends liked to imply – and his most precious tool had been taken from him.

He needed to leave… and find a place of complete solitude in this city, just for a few moments, so he could scream and shout and cry… just so he could feel heard again, even if it were only his own ears that picked up the echo of his voice.

He made it a hundred feet into the direction of the city, when his comm unit beeped and Oracle’s voice became audible:

“I know you are doing something dumb right now, and I know that you are not cleared to be in the field, but Red Robin and Robin are in danger and you are the closest to their location. They are fifth Avenue, corner Jakobi street, violent scuffle with twelve men. It was a hostage situation that escalated, so civilians are on the scene.”

Barbara didn’t even stop to let the illusion he could answer persist. Instead, she just assumed that he would do what was right and save his little brothers. She was right, of course, but Dick couldn’t help himself and feel fierce dread well up inside of him. There was no way this would end well.

He redirected his energy towards reaching Damian and Tim, the bike underneath him coming to life. He could do this – he only had to stay silent. During a fight. Surrounded by crying civilians and screaming crooks, all the while worrying about his little brothers.

 _Easy_.

Dick wanted to throw up.

He could hear the fight from seven streets away, the screaming periodically disrupted by small explosions. Either the gangsters were really innovative, or Damian and Tim were using some of the new smoke bombs Bruce had designed – Dick hoped it was the later even if that would make communication even harder.

The corner was a mess when Dick finally reached it, his bike coming to a skidding halt when he spotted the destruction.

Debris was laying around, someone was crying, and Tim and Damian were in the middle of a giant smoke cloud, fighting thrice their numbers.

Dick didn’t think before he jumped into the mess, his body smooth and quick, even as his thoughts were straining to follow. This was bad – really, really bad.

He found the first gangster, his fist connecting with his jaw, before the man could recover and redirect his gun towards Dick. One hit didn’t seem to faze the dude though, and before Dick knew it, he was engaged in a fistfight with one of the men.

It only took him maybe thirty seconds to finally finish the goon off, the guy sinking to the floor in an undignified heap, but Dick already knew that that had been too long.

He was supposed to be quicker, faster, better – he was Nightwing.

His frantic gaze searched for Damian and Tim once more, and when he finally spotted at least one of them – Red Robin – his blood ran cold.

Tim was in the hold of another gangster, one that looked like he might be the leader, and a gun was fiercely pressed to Tim’s head. These guys didn’t look like the supervillain crowd, the man’s finger tight and securely on the trigger.

Supervillains were easy in situations like these. Yes, they regularly killed hundreds, but when they had one of the Bats in their clutches, well… the Mad Hatter hadn’t killed Dick either, making him suffer and destroy himself, since that promised much more fun for the sadistic asshole.

But random criminals? People who wanted money or jewelry? Mercenaries who were paid not to care? There were the people who would pull the trigger without questioning it.

Hell, they wouldn’t even do the honors of holding a villain monologue before they acted.

Dick saw in slow-motion as the finger on the trigger tightened, Tim already dead in his mind, when his voice tore itself free, the scream of “RED ROBIN!” laced with desperation and fear.

Dick’s insides turned to ice as he watched the gun move, the man holding Tim redirecting the course of the bullet in the last possible moment. He saw the confusion in Tim’s eyes, and he saw the horror as the blood splattered all over Tim, the man behind him falling back, the bullet connecting with the forehead of the gangster, who had just tried to kill Tim.

Dick threw up.

Silence had settled over the intersection, the fight dying down as everyone stopped to watch… and yet something nobody had counted on had happened: Red Robin was still alive, and the leader of the criminals was the one laying in a puddle of his own blood and brain.

Dick fell to his knees, the acid burning the back of his throat.

Fuck.

Shit.

 _No_.

There was a faint ringing in his ears, a sound of confusion and pain, and when he looked up, Robin and Red Robin were standing in front of him, and the crime scene had been cleared. How much time had he lost? How long…?

The confusion must have been visible on his face, because Tim repeated himself, the blood now dry on his face:

“We have to go, Nightwing. If we stay any longer the police are going to ask some very uncomfortable questions.”

Dick could… yeah, he could understand that. But at the same time, he knew he couldn’t stay with his brothers either. Because they would want to ask questions as well, and Dick wouldn’t be able to answer, not in a way that would satisfy them, not in a way that wouldn’t endanger them.

He made it three rooftops in their company, before he jumped of a roof without warning, grappling back towards his bike.

“Nightwing! _COME BACK_!”

He could hear Tim scream in the background, but Dick had to get away… he had to be somewhere where he couldn’t harm anyone. Not even criminals. Maybe especially not them. It was wrong – Dick had killed that man. He had killed him to save Tim – only that it hadn’t been on purpose.

It could have been a civilian that killed themselves due to Dick’s banshee scream, or Damian who had been on the other side of the street. Anyone of these people could have died, because Dick had lost control. He shouldn’t be allowed around others – hell, he couldn’t even trust himself.

The motor of his bike was a calming presence underneath him, the warm and hot metal at least something that felt familiar, at least something that was real.

It was weird – Dick felt as if he had been in a haze ever since Mad Hatter caught him, fear suddenly a much larger part of his life than it had ever been before.

He would crash soon. He could feel it in his bones, his entire being, his reserves burned out. He had nothing more to give, his body running purely on anxiety and terror.

Just… he had to find a safe space first, somewhere no one could hear or see him. He wanted a good night’s rest – and he would only allow himself such thing if he knew that nobody would accidentally stumble over him.

It was late… so late it was almost morning again in fact, when Dick found a warehouse so broken down not even the homeless population of Gotham would squat in it. There was an entrance on the third floor only a vigilante could reach, and Dick was almost sure that he had left all trackers back in the Batcave.

He had lost the comm unit two roofs after he ditched the boys.

He entered the building on silent feet, the room on the top floor he had chosen as his destination dusty and broken down. Dick trusted only one section of the floor to carry him, and he curled up on top of the crumbling concrete, tears already running down his cheeks.

 _Fuck_.

He had killed someone.

No, he had killed four someone’s. The goons in Mad Hatter’s warehouse counted as well, made him a murderer, even if Dick hadn’t known what would happen should he open his mouth. He hadn’t known – but that didn’t make them any less dead.

It was a horrible truth – Dick was a killer, a murderer, a monster… and he was all alone. He wanted a hug and a moment of softness, but he deserved neither, damned to a life in silence and solitude. No, he could fight it…

He could fight the Mad Hatter. He just… he just had to get up and search for the man. He just had to… gather his courage and his strength and find the bastard…

But all Dick could do was cry. He had spent so much of his energy being strong those last few days, had kept his mouth closed and his thoughts inside… he felt as if he was exploding, as if his seams were ripping apart, one lose emotion at a time.

He raised his eyes, searching his hide-out for any trace of life. He couldn’t see anyone, hadn’t seen anyone in the entire street when he had found this building, and he couldn’t even hear the sound of an animal scurrying around.

Maybe…? No. It was irresponsible and wrong and despicable and… and… Dick couldn’t just break his silence because he felt like breaking apart. It didn’t matter that he was crying, that he was stifling his sobs and his heart, because he was so afraid of hurting someone that he couldn’t even cry in peace. It didn’t matter that he had left his family behind….

He was a killer.

He didn’t deserve the relief screaming would offer. He didn’t deserve the guilt suffocating him to ease.

Only that he would be forced to cave sooner or later, and as his sobs grew louder, so did the yelps of emotional pain and utter devastation.

He should have known it. Dick Grayson was weak – sooner or later he would damn himself.

“Sorry… so sorry… I am so sorry… so sorry… please… no… I can’t… I just can’t…”

He wasn’t even loud, his words nothing more than a whisper, but in the silence that accompanied his sorrow a faint sound could be heard – a faint sound that sounded suspiciously like a person screaming as they fell from a great height.

No… that couldn’t be… he hadn’t…

Nobody could have heard him! He had been so silent! He hadn’t even screamed!

Was it too much to ask for a moment of reprieve? Apparently… another person was dead, another soul weighted heavy on Dick’s conscious, another life had ended before its time…

Dick was so sick of it.

He wanted… he wanted it to stop. It was crushing, the guilt pulling threat after threat from this thing called Dick Grayson, unraveling what once might have been a great man. What was left was a sad creature, broken by the horrendous things it had committed – participated in.

Dick wasn’t--- he wasn’t strong enough for this.

Four – no… Five people had died because of him, had suffered because of him… he was the one who had killed them, his voice bringing only death.

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right! Dick… he wanted it to stop.

Tears were spilling down his cheeks, and his throat felt tight, all the expectations and mistakes chocking him. He didn’t deserve to live… he didn’t deserve this gift, not while he was actively killing others.

The Mad Hatter had said nothing about him killing himself, maybe it was a trap, maybe it was a kill-all-switch – or maybe the Mad Hatter had known that Dick would do the job for him.

He… his chest was heaving, snot running down his nose. He had to do something. He wanted to scream, and there was a yell building up in his chest, but Dick couldn’t let it go. He couldn’t give into these primal urges, these desperate needs…

The world was better off if nobody heard from him ever again.

At least no one else would die because of him again that way.

Dick sat in his corner of the building, up in the third floor, and he watched as the sun began to rise, something settling inside his chest. Soon it would be over, soon he would be gone. Soon, he wouldn’t have to be silent anymore.

He was a killer – but he just wanted to be held. He wanted to say goodbye.

Oh, Bruce would be devastated, and so would Damian and Tim… hopefully nobody ever found his body, he didn’t want to put his family through that.

But it was for their best – it was for the best of Gotham.

He would have to wait for nightfall, the darkness a better ally than the for once sunny Gotham. He tried to enjoy the sunlight as it breached the dusty room through the hole in the wall.

This would be the last time he would feel the sun warming his skin. This would be the last time he would see Gotham try to shine. This would be his last day spent alive – and he would spend it tucked away in his corner of the room, watching as the world continued to spin and heal.

He would miss his family… all of them… he would miss them, but they deserved better than him, better than this. He couldn’t do it – he wasn’t strong enough to find the Mad Hatter, he wasn’t good enough to win some other way.

He just wanted the silence to stop. He wanted to hear something – _to say something_.

Dick Grayson wasn’t meant to be silent – and now the world was paying the price.

It was nearing the evening hours, when Dick heard something else, his eyes long since running out of focus.

He was empty. Numb. A vessel, staring ahead, feeling… _nothing_.

And then he heard something move.

The world was distant, as if someone had painted it in watercolor, and Dick watched as a shadow moved into the room. A shadow Dick knew better than his own name.

He gave no indication that he had seen Batman enter. He stayed silent. Calm. Empty.

“Dick.”

There was not even a shimmer of pretense hiding Bruce’s voice – his emotions – there was just honest relief.

Dick didn’t react. He let his eyes stay focused on the rooftop opposite his building, he let his head stay empty of any thought or emotion. He would cry and fight and run if he allowed himself to think. He would silently rage, and loudly break… should anything happen to Bruce.

“Dick, look at me.”

The opposite rooftop was empty, the evening sun painting it a vibrant pink. Sunsets had always been painfully beautiful in Gotham, the pollution coloring the sky neon.

“Dick, please… I need you to look at me.”

Bruce was crying.

Dick turned around.

Batman had shed his cowl, only the sadly hanging cape telling tales of the great adventures of the Bat. Everything else was Bruce, was Dick’s dad… and he was crying. Tear tracks decorated a face covered in worry and scars and wrinkles.

Bruce’s eyes spoke of love and all Dick could feel was despair.

But the fact that Dick had reacted, that he had turned around, seemed to be enough for Bruce, the man stepping cautiously closer, until he was right in front of Dick.

Bruce sank to his knees, and before Dick could react, he had been pulled into a tight hug, strong, warm… _familiar_ arms pressing him close.

“I’ve got you. It’s alright now, Dick. You can talk now… it is alright now.”

Dick could only shake his head against the fabric of the suit, his heart not daring to hope. He would break should he hope, he would hurt should he hope… instead, he cried, hot tears like fire on his skin. He was just so tired.

“I have you… I love you, chum, I love you… It’s alright now.”

It wasn’t. It would never be alright again. Dick had killed five people, his voice had been used against him, he had… he had created pain, Nightwing should have never been allowed to create.

“I have you… Tim… Tim found out what was going on. We stopped the transmission. Chum… we stopped it… you can talk now… it is alright. We stopped it.”

Nothing was alright, the fraying edges of Dick’s mind fraying even further… there was nothing holding him together anymore, his arms hugging Bruce tight, his entire body shaking. The sobs wracked his body, his ribs aching with each wave of sorrow that escaped Dick – and yet no sound made it past his lips.

“It isn’t your fault… chum, it was never your fault… I love you… okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

And with that the dam broke.

It all came crashing down, Dick’s grasp on Bruce turning more desperate, his hands searching for something – anything at all – that would keep him from being swept away. He was sobbing, crying, begging… he was letting go of every emotion, every thought, every word he had kept inside during the past week.

“I am sorry… so sorry… I… no… I didn’t want… so-sorry… I am so sorry… please…. No… Bruce… no…”

The words were tumbling, stumbling, falling from his lips and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He was devastated, broken, burned… and while he cried and raged and emotionally bled, Bruce was there to catch him.

Dick didn’t know how long they were sitting on the floor of the broken down building in the middle of the night… he just knew that Bruce was still holding him when he looked up, clarity in his gaze for the first time in hours.

And Bruce pressed him close once more, pure love in his voice and said:

“Let’s go home.”

And they did.


End file.
